


Wicked Game

by thedevotchka



Category: One Direction (Band), Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-29
Updated: 2012-09-29
Packaged: 2017-11-15 05:54:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/523877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevotchka/pseuds/thedevotchka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Larry is all over the place, it's in your face, it's cute on camera, it's... manufactured for the fans. Harry is content to go along with it and just sleep with whoever he meets as discreetly as he can. Which is fine, until he meets Dylan O'Brien. They're each other's biggest secret fan, but what happens when they meet?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He watched him from across the room. There were probably a hundred other pretty boys in pretty tuxedos milling around. There were probably a dozen boys prettier than him, too, but it didn’t matter. A flash of emerald eyes and a flick of chestnut curls and the boy across the room had Dylan’s attention. All of it. All night. Dylan shifted from one foot to another, feeling awkward in his suit and wishing he knew where Tyler was. He’d know what to say, he’d tell Dylan what to do, maybe even be his wingman. He reached a hand up to awkwardly fuss at his styled hair, and it was at that moment the curly haired, green-eyed boy looked up and met his gaze. It was only a second, a tiny quirk of his upper lip, but it was enough to provoke a reaction in Dylan so strong that he was moving across the room, swerving in and out of clusters of people, to reach the bar where the pretty boy was leaning.   
“Hi,” he breathed out, wincing at how shaky his voice sounded even to his own ears. He didn’t have a plan, and that usually ended up very badly for him.   
“You’ve been watching me for an hour, thought you were never coming over,” the boy teased, his accent something British with an inflection Dylan couldn’t place with his limited knowledge of dialects. His voice was warm and slow like melting chocolate and Dylan wanted to get lost in it, but more than that, he wanted to see how that voice would change when it was made up of growls and yelps and whines.   
“Yeah, well, you know, I don’t really have a plan,” Dylan explained with a blush. The boy laughed, holding his hand out.   
“I’m Harry. Harry Styles.” Dylan took his outstretched hand and shook it, trying to ignore the progressive tingles running up and down his arm at the contact.   
“Dylan. O’Brien. You’re in that boy-band, aren’t you? I think I-“ Dylan cut himself off, realising a moment too late that admitting you follow someone on Twitter, someone you’ve never even met, might ruin his chances of taking the guy home tonight.   
“You think you’ve heard of me?” Harry supplied helpfully, smirking.   
“Yeah, yeah, heard of you. I don’t think you’d have heard of me though.” He didn’t know why he’d added that on, it was like a challenge.   
“Can’t say I have. What do you do?” There was a light in his eyes Dylan wanted to question but didn’t.   
“I’m an actor. Um, I play this guy Stiles on Teen Wolf.”   
“Oh, I think I’ve heard of that show. Tyler Posey.” Dylan tried not to wince at the fact that Harry knew Tyler but not him, even though they both got a lot of screen time. He didn’t know why he’d thought he had a shot. Harry leaned in, ducking his head close to Dylan’s. “Are you going to buy me a drink, or do I have to buy myself one?” His voice was low and husky and thick on Dylan’s skin, making him blink back in surprise. Harry had almost sounded… lustful? That couldn’t be right, but that’s what it had sounded like to him.   
“Of course I’m buying you a drink. You shouldn’t ever buy your own drinks. What are we having?” Dylan didn’t know where the compliment had come from, and was about to regret it when Harry’s face broke out into a smile and he shifted his hips subtly towards him.   
“Oh, I like you a lot.” Harry purred. “I’ll have a double vodka and coke.” He leaned back, one eyebrow raised.   
“Two,” Dylan motioned to the bartender who nodded and began mixing the drinks. Dylan pushed the glass towards him and he reached out for it. In a cliché moment, their fingers brushed against each other and Dylan pulled away quickly, flushing red. Harry took a sip of his drink and Dylan tried not to focus too hard on the heavy way his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. Now wouldn’t be the best time for a hard-on. Harry continued drinking, slow, sure swallows, until his glass was drained.   
“Oh,” Dylan mumbled, unable to control the little sound. Harry leaned in, lips brushing Dylan’s ear in a way that should be classed as sex all by itself.   
“Thanks for the drink… babe,” the pet name was mocking but not in a mean way, and all Dylan could do was try not to blow his pants.   
“It’s... Okay,” Dylan gasped and felt Harry’s breath assault his neck as he laughed.   
“Harry!” A third voice, with a thicker British accent, brought the boys out of their lust-induced moment and Dylan tried not to whimper as Harry and his warmth pulled away from him.   
“Louis… where did you go, babe?” Dylan winced visibly then. Of course Harry Styles was taken. Of course.   
“Had to make the rounds. Like you should be doing, too, really Harry it’s bad enough that- Oh. Hello.” The third boy noticed Dylan, cocking his head to the side. “Whose your friend?” Harry glanced at him quickly before locking eyes with Louis.   
“Nobody. Just some guy. Lets go,” He didn’t even look back at Dylan, just pushed through the crowd, hands linked firmly with Louis. Dylan slumped back against the bar and ran a hand over his face. Harry Styles was a fucking dick; there was no other way of putting it. He slipped his hand into his pocket, prepared to pull his phone, call a cab and ditch the rest of the premier, when his fingers brushed something soft and papery. He retrieved the foreign object, which happened to be a napkin from the bar.   
“Of course I know who you are, Styles Stilinksky. If you still want me, call. His number was printed underneath, and Dylan frowned down at the napkin for a long moment before scrunching it up and tossing it onto the bar, tossing back his drink, and turning for the door. He reached it, reached for the handle, even, before stopping. He sighed, chastising himself for it before he’d even made a move, and darted back to the bar to shove the napkin in his pocket, moment of holding his head high forgotten as he remembered the feeling of Harry’s breath on his neck.


	2. Chapter 2

Dylan’s POV

I should call him. It’s impolite not too, really, when he’d left his number for me. I couldn’t stop thinking about the way he’d looked at me, though, moments before leaving with that other guy. So detached. Would it be so easy for him to discard me the moment I gave him what he wanted? I was nobody’s fool, that’s for sure, not even pretty boys with pretty curls and too-charming smiles. But still, I should call, just to make sure, just to see if he has an explanation for his behaviour… Nope, won’t do it, got too much pride for that, and anyway, there’s a good chance he’s not eve-  
“Hello?” Shit, shit, that thick British accent rolls out through the phone as lazy as the words roll off his tongue and through his lips in person, and I realise too late that I called him anyway, through my protests, because my body wants his body and there’s little I can do to quell those carnal urges.   
“Hi… Harry.” I pause, waiting, testing. If he asks who it is, I’ll hang up, I tell myself. Got too much pride for that.   
“Dylan? I’m so glad you called!” His voice rises a little in pitch with what can only be described as genuine happiness and it makes me smile.   
“Yeah, well, I wasn’t going to, but-“  
“Yeah, yeah, I know.” He cuts me off. “I know I was kind of a dick to you back there, when Louis came.” I swallowed hard at the mention of the other guy by name; I’d been content to picture him as a nameless enemy.   
“Yeah, so, um” I mean to change the subject but he cuts me off again.   
“That’s why I’m so glad you called, you know. So I could explain.” His voice is soft now, sombre, and I lean forward into the conversation though he cannot see me.   
“Explain what, Harry,” my voice is soft, too.   
“Well, um, I don’t know how much you read the tabloids and stuff. Or the Internet.” I bite my lip, running through anything and everything I might have read about the object of my affection online, and come up empty. Other than his Twitter I can proudly say I’m fairly stalker-free.   
“Nothing,” I mumbled softly. He let out a shaky sigh.   
“Then I should start at the beginning.” He paused and I heard a faint click and the sound of his harsh breathing, speeding up to the point of hyperventilating.   
“Harry?” Worry laced my tone.   
“I can’t talk anymore. Meet me outside the big fountain outside, your hotel in an hour, okay?” He hung up before I could give him my answer, though we were both sure what it would be. Whether I planned to pursue him or not, Harry Styles had piqued my interest and I wanted, no, needed to find out what was going on. 

Exactly an hour later I was waiting, wrapped in 3 layers of shirt, sweatshirt and coat, shivering by the fountain and wondering if he would even show. I was contemplating going home, when I saw a mop of bronze-brown hair atop a cold-bitten white and pink face and my feet fixed myself to the floor of their own accord.   
“Harry,” I breathed the word out and his gaze met mine, face lighting up with a smile that didn’t quite touch his eyes.   
“I’m glad you came. I- sorry, too, about earlier. Again,” his smile turned rueful and I nodded to signal my understanding. I really wasn’t mad, I just wanted to know what was going on. “There’s a coffee place just around the corner from here, shall we go there?” This was a different Harry from the one I met last night, I decided as we walked in silence to the coffee shop. Last night he’d been flirtatious but assertive, dominant, full of himself in all the right ways. Today he seemed on edge, more boy than man, desperately seeking out signs of my approval. It worried me.   
“What can I get you?” I asked, remembering how he liked his drinks bought for him. His eyes widened a little.   
“No, no, it’s okay, I can get my own tea,” he stepped forward but I shooed him towards a secluded booth at the back, out of sight of the window. I didn’t know why that had seemed important to me, but it did. He bit his lip, looking from me, to the booth, to the door as if he were considering running away, before closing his eyes and turning on his heel to sit where I’d instructed. I stepped up to the barista and ordered.   
“One Mocha Latte and one earl grey tea, please,” the girl nodded and took my money, handing me back my change with a glance towards the booths at the back. I willed her not to say anything… to just let it go… seeing as-  
“Is that Harry Styles?” I smoothed my features into the best poker face I could muster.   
“I’m sorry, Harry who?” She looked momentarily doubtful.   
“Um, Harry Styles, he’s… this guy… um… from a… um,” with each word her voice was becoming weaker in its conviction. “Boy band,” she mumbled, unable to meet my eye as she dumped our order on the bench. I nodded my thanks and retrieved the beverages, heading to the booth where Harry sat, jiggling his leg up and down nervously.   
“Just had a very close call with the coffee girl,” I grinned, and he smiled back for a second before a look of panic overtook his features.   
“Oh god, me or you?” His eyes scanned the room nervously for signs of recognition on the faces of the people in the shop, but no one was looking our way… yet.   
“You, but I put her off by playing dumb and I think she feels stupid for asking.” He sighed, pressing his fingertips against his eyes.   
“I shouldn’t be here. It’s a sign,” he mumbled, more to himself than to me as he couldn’t meet my eyes. I’d have been offended, had it not been for the misery running thick in his voice.   
“Well, there’s a reason you are. Why don’t you tell me, hmm? Start from the beginning?” I glanced quickly around the room before darting my hand out from around my coffee mug to grip his fingers for a moment. His head shot up and he met my gaze as I squeezed and squeezed again in a moment more intimate than it should have been. Then he was looking around the room again and I pulled my hand away to return to the safety of my coffee mug, remaining optimistic over the fact that he looked like he regretted my departure as much as I did.   
“Okay,” he let out a shaky breath, something I noticed he did a lot, and lifted his mug to his lips. “Holy… Dylan, what the, why?” He whined, clumping the mug back onto the table and pursing his lips in distaste.   
“Why, hey, why what?” I echoed his question, glancing at his tea to see what I’d done wrong. He raised his eyebrows at me before reaching into the mug and pinching out… the teabag.   
“We do not leave these in here. Ever. Okay?” Strict, cocky, bossy Harry was back for a moment, and it reassured me somehow that he wasn’t broken, as absurd as that may sound considering what a short time I’d known him for.   
“Ooh, sorry your Majesty, won’t happen again,” I winked at him, poking gently fun and he rolled his eyes and stuck his tongue out at me and just like that, in a split second, all the tension and worry in the atmosphere between us dissolved and I leaned forward towards him, pulled in by the attraction I’d felt so strongly last night.   
“I guess… well, there’s this thing, the fans, um, they have a name for us, um, by us I mean Louis, and me um, oh god this is tricky,” he gnawed on his lip and I nodded, encouraging him on. “Like, so, the fans thought me and Louis were in a relationship, like a proper one, after XFactor and stuff, and we were. Well, um, for a while, anyway. Like, our Management company kept an eye on the fan opinion of it and realised how popular it was,” he was blushing steadily now, and I didn’t know how to reassure him that it was okay without drawing attention to us. I slipped my sneaker off and extended my leg, just a little, just enough to brush my sock-clad toes up his calf, up and down. He closed his eyes, moving his leg a little closer and to the side, and I tried not to look down at the table where I knew his legs had parted in a maybe invitation. “And so, um, management came up with this plan, that we had to stay together secretly and pretend like it wasn’t a thing without ever actually saying it wasn’t, so the fans would keep up the interest. It was all a marketing thing really. And um, we didn’t, ugh,” he cut himself off as I ran an experimental toe up the seam along his thigh, and I froze, wondering if I’d taken it too far. His eyes opened to meet mine and he nudged his hips forward, just a little, but the order was clear to continue. And who was I to deny Harry Styles anything?”  
“For a while,” he continued, shuffling even further towards the edge of his seat, “it didn’t really matter to either of us, we just kept on as we were. Minimal PDA’s, relationship behind closed doors, never confirming or straight out denying, but then, um, then things started to get complicated. Um, gah, this is where it gets really hard, Dyl. I don’t want you to judge me.” I met his gaze steadily now, sure this was the hard part he didn’t want to get to. I pressed the heel of my foot right against his crotch, flush with the straining erection in his jeans and smiled.   
“I won’t judge you, Harry. There are a million things I’ll do to you… but that’s not one of them. You can tell me anything.” I punctuated the end of my sentence with another firm bush to his crotch and his mouth fell open for a moment before he closed it, straightened as best he could whilst angling his lower half towards me, and continued.   
“Louis is the jealous type. He’s demanding as selfish and he can be pretty mean when things don’t go his way. But I loved him, you have to understand that. All the shit I put up with from him, it was only because I loved him, I-“ He broke off again, and I noticed tears in his eyes. I stopped what I was doing, drawing my foot away and reached across the table to take his hand in mine. He looked down at our linked fingers and gave mine a little tug before looking back up at me.   
“I don’t, not anymore, not like that, but the management scheme still goes on. When we broke up for real and started to ease fans into the idea of it there was a meltdown, we lost followers on Twitter and stuff and I know that shouldn’t be important, it’s not important to me, but for the sake of the band it was. Management made us get back together. And I mean, um, Louis knows we’re not a couple anymore, he DOES, but he’s jealous, like I said, and he doesn’t like it when other people play with his things. That’s what he used to tell me when I’d flirt with people at clubs, or get hit on by fans. That’s what he’d tell me every night, after I’d made him jealous, as he’d pound me to make sure I knew.” Harry looked up at me, biting his lip, as his leg extended under the table to nudge my foot back into action again. 

I resumed my previous assault on his crotch, finding him hard and hot and waiting as I’d left him. He sighed out a little hum of approval and continued again.   
“So that’s why I treated you so shitty last night when he came over. He knows I have a crush on you and any little indication that I liked you or you liked me, I’d have had a rough night.” He tries to shrug it off as he sits back in his seat, but I’m still full of questions.   
“Harry… does he… does he still touch you?” Harry squirms in his seat.  
“I don’t know what to tell you. I don’t want him to, but it’s not really rape, either, is it? I could stop him, but I don’t. I’m weak, Dyl. But I want to change that.” His eyes pleaded with me and I knew he was telling the truth. I knew I had to try and help him any way I could, too.   
“Come back to my apartment.” It was a statement, but there was nothing harsh in my words. With what Harry had just confessed to me I didn’t think I could ever be harsh with him.   
“You don’t want me to leave?”  
“No. It’s okay, Harry. I told you I wouldn’t judge you. I don’t understand your situation personally but I want to help. I like you, Harry.” He grinned, getting up and pulling me into a hug. Intentionally or otherwise his crotch brushed against my stomach and I held him fast against me, leaning in to lick the shell of his ear quickly. “Besides, Styles, I think I’ve created a not so little problem that should be taken care… behind closed doors.” He shivered, pulling back and looking at me with lust-blown eyes. I licked my lips at the sight, wondering what he was going to look like sprawled on my bed, or bent over the kitchen counter, or buckling against the shower, or wedged against the front door if I couldn’t wait that long.   
“I’m going to make you all mine, Harry Styles,” I growled as I half led, half dragged him towards my building.


End file.
